


no exit

by at_a_loss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 06:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15600798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/at_a_loss/pseuds/at_a_loss
Summary: That Harry spent his lonely summer afternoons at the Dursleys rapping along to an old radio on his dresser is a fucking given. The Dursleys would never miss the worn radio he’d gotten his hands on. Of course, when Harry returned to Hogwarts to see that Draco was acting suspiciously, he noticed some interesting similarities between him and one of his favorite artists. Harry must have a thing for platinum blondes.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry lay on his back, rolling a tennis ball in his hands. Occasionally, he’d throw the ball into a gentle arc and catch it in his hands once again. A small radio on his dresser was turned all the way up. Harry was expertly rapping along, enjoying the dexterity in his tongue. At first, Harry had worried that Petunia would storm in and snatch his radio up, but his concern died when he realized that Dudley was playing music louder still in his room near the kitchen. Harry’s cousin was the proud owner of an incredible stereo that had the maximum volume of a medium-sized dinosaur.

_Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want.  
So, tell me what you want, what you really really want._

Dudley was very trendy in his music taste. Or that was what Harry said to his face when Dudley caught him in the doorway the first time he had played such music.

“Get out, you git!” Dudley said, tossing a pillow in the vague direction of his own door.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice, and immediately went upstairs to set up his pilfered radio without a qualm.

And so Harry propped himself on his rickety twin bed with a ball that he’d grabbed from Dudley’s room.

_All of the controversy circles me, and it seems like the media immediately points a finger at me._

Harry took a moment to recall his previous year at Hogwarts and shuddered. Seamus was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the icey encounters he’d had in his fifth year. That would certainly improve in the upcoming year, following the events at the Ministry a few months back, but Harry would much prefer Sirius alive than a positive interaction with the student body at Hogwarts.

About an hour passed, Harry whiling away the time with the little radio. He was very much in his groove listening as he was. Harry had grown up an outsider, and it was certainly apparent that outsiders were those he most gravitates to.

Feeling spirited following his impressive delivery of the hour’s rap hits, Harry slipped into a jacket and headed out the Dursley’s back door. No one said goodbye to him.

Upon Harry’s arrival at Surbiton Station, a large group of evening commuters stepped onto a train and departed. Harry glimpsed a cafe that the train had previously obscured, and headed in its direction.

Harry spent about half an hour reading the Prophet and flirting lightly with a waitress when he saw Dumbledore.

\---

Much later, Harry returned to Privet Drive on Dumbledore’s arm. Harry couldn’t imagine why Dumbledore would know that Muggle train stations don’t run in the middle of the night, and was more grateful than Dumbledore perhaps expected in return for a simple ride.

“Where in the devil have you been, boy?” Vernon asked from the couch. Petunia sat across from him, clutching at a fan agitatedly. Harry noticed that Dudley wasn’t home yet. His door lay open.

“The station,” Harry replied. He didn’t wait for his uncle to reply, and quickened up the stairs to his room. Shutting the door behind him, Harry strode to the dresser to turn the radio back on.

“Turn that down!” Vernon shouted through the ceiling, and Harry quickly turned the knob.

Harry sighed, and had a niggling sadness that Dumbledore deemed it too late to visit the Burrow. However, Dumbledore said he’d sent an owl to Arthur, and he’d be up in the morning for Harry. 

\---

Harry touched his broom fondly. He had just taken a remarkable fly around the pitch with Ron. They had been practicing for the upcoming Quidditch tryout.

“Thanks for that, mate. That last manoeuvre almost bloody unseated me,” Ron scoffed. He ripped his arm bands off and followed them with his sweaty shirt.

“Yeah, no problem, Ron. I fell off my own broom enough times. It’s only fair you get your share,” Harry said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Ron shoved at Harry and scoffed.

“Well, that’s real cheerful,” Ron said. The pair heard a girly squeak and turned to see Lavender running away from the mouth of the tent, braids swinging wildly.

Harry and Ron exchange a wide-eyed look and break into an easy laughter. Ron slung his arm over Harry’s shoulder, and the two marched into the castle.

As the boys were walking by one of the more deserted corridors, Harry caught a brief sight of Draco, and his eyes narrowed.

Harry remembers how he walked into the Great Hall late, _once again,_ smelling like the underside of Malfoy’s shoe just last week. His uncomfortable ride to Hogwarts barely enlightened him, unless you consider Malfoy being unusually stoney and prickly enlightening. There was just something about the boy that made Harry want to pay close attention. So naturally, Harry kept an eye out for him everywhere.

“Did you see Malfoy just now?” Harry asked Ron, interrupting the boy’s heated dialogue about Fred and George’s new shop ( _They wouldn’t give me a discount, Harry. I’m their brother!_ ).

“Yes. I swear, his father put him up to something. He won’t make eye-contact with anyone,” Ron said. “Except you, of course. He keeps stealing glances at you, you know.”

“The definition of ‘eye-contact’ implies that we are looking at one another simultaneously, Ron,” Harry says shiftily. He hopes no one has noticed his unusual obsession with Malfoy lately.

Harry has started to think about Malfoy. He wonders what the boy could be up to that is so important that Draco can afford to skip his final year of schooling for. More concerningly, he’s also been wondering about how he can approach Malfoy and rope him into a little bit of mischief. After all, they were rivals. Not that Harry seemed short of rivals or enemies these days. 

Harry’s next month went by with a deceptive calm that reminded Harry of the beginning his third year. Dumbledore, Slughorn, and Half Blood Prince dominated his time. Hermione, Ginny, and Ron were likewise in high spirits, but for Hermione’s occasional moping for Ron’s lack of brain capacity.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ron is my best friend, but he must be really thick. It’s obvious that you have a crush on him. Even worse, it’s obvious he has a crush on you too.” Here Hermione nodded sadly. “You have to tell him,” Harry said, putting his book down on the table to look at her.

Hermione sighed and magiced her book back into its place. “I don’t know, Harry. What if he doesn’t like me? It’s possible he just… finds my skin nice. Or something. Please, don’t say anything to him,” she pleaded, hitting Harry with some of her best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” Harry said. “But you owe me. I want a backrub.”

And so when Hermione gave him a backrub in the Griffindor common room and Ron gawked at Hermione the entire time when she asked Harry if he liked that, Harry considered it a win.

And when Ron told him that he was fond of Hermione’s skin and voice later that night, Harry froze before he could burst into laughter. They really were perfect for each other. And so Harry went to sleep with a vague thought.

_Malfoy has nice skin._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is missing. Harry and Dumbledore have a talk. Harry's figuring out what the parameters of his queerness are.

It got worse. Students went about their daily lives at Hogwarts. Some of them would stop Harry in the hallways, swooning about either his hair or his prowess at Potions. But Harry was distracted.

“Has your hair always been that buoyant, Harry, or do you gel it? Or, use a charm, I mean. Sorry, I’m Muggleborn,” a second-year chatted up at him. Harry was craning his neck around the boy’s brown head. He was searching for Malfoy.

Draco was nowhere to be seen. The last time Harry saw the boy was at their shared Potions class. Clenching his teeth with his eyes trained on Harry and his little bottle of Felix Felicis.

Harry shivered as he thought of the expression Draco had directed to him. Because he was passing into the dungeons, and it was getting cold. Yeah.

Anyway, Draco was up to something, and Harry was worried. Not for Draco, of course, the twat, but for whatever nefarious plan he was cooking up. There was certainly a new darkness surrounding the boy.

And so of course Harry suspected Draco for casting the Imperious spell on Katie Bell and therefore hospitalizing her.

But the necklace had been meant for Dumbledore.  
\---  
Harry had spent a great deal of time with the headmaster since their stint with Slughorn. Especially after the year of no contact, Harry was glad to be spending time with the man he was quickly adopting as a father figure.

They were beginning to be so familiar, in fact, that Harry would stay after their appointed Pensieve memory played out to talk. Sometimes, they’d go at it for hours on end.

“Professor, why is it that you only send for me in the evening?” Harry asked.

“Well, Harry, that should be quite obvious. You are taught in the morning, and do not try to tell me that a simple meeting with me warrants an escape from your lessons. Your classmates would find that rather suspicious, don’t you think?” Dumbledore’s speech was as convoluted as ever. The man was stroking Fawkes absentmindedly as he gazed at Harry across his desk.

Harry was pacing back and forth in the study. He was picking up objects at random to observe. Currently, a pink ball snuggled into his fingers and cooed at him. “This is from Fred and George’s shop, isn’t it?” Harry was cheeky.

“I do find that I like to see for myself how Hogwarts graduates fare. Besides, I think it’s rather cute,” Dumbledore gave him an indulgent smile.

“This little poof?” Harry said.

“I rather like poofs,” Dumbledore said tonelessly.

Harry was instantly confused. Dumbledore couldn’t mean that, could he? He was probably just behind on being omnipotent, or something. Read a dictionary that missed that particular definition. But Dumbledore had a little twinkle in his eye, and Harry knew that he understood just what he had said, and was in fact quite aware of Harry’s little analyzation.

“Sir, do you mean that you’re gay? Sorry, I meant-” Harry began politely.

“Don’t fuss, Harry. I haven’t had a lover in ages.”

 

A rather unbidden image of Dumbledore doing unspeakable things wormed its way to the forefront of Harry’s head. He shuddered. And yet, Harry could feel a warmth spreading to his fingertips.

_He’s like me._

“I see, professor. Say, I understand. More than you think I do, maybe,” Harry was feeling a little bit awkward. He knew he was into guys, he’s had loads of wanks to prove it. But he’d never actually gotten intimate with a man. There was no one he really wanted to pursue.

An image of Malfoy flashed through his head, and Harry grimaced. He was not crushing on Malfoy, he was just confused because he had been watching him lately, that’s all. Harry knew he could find boys a lot nicer than that idiot. Not to mention boys that wouldn’t try to slip Dumbledore a cursed necklace.

Dumbledore sat studying Harry in silence. Harry had the creepy feeling that he knew just what he was thinking. He furiously tried to wrack his brain free of any Malfoy-related thoughts.

“I know, Harry. Just remember to be careful. Affection and danger don’t mix well. But in the right capacity,” Dumbledore paused to dramatically free Fawkes from his perch on his arm, “love can outweigh fear to make wondrous things happen.”  
\---  
Harry somehow managed to make it back to the Griffindor common room in his current haze. He had run into Luna along the way, who was convinced that Wrackspurts had positively nested around his head. Luckily, she left as soon as she had unloaded that bit of gibberish onto Harry.

The moment he entered his shared room, he strode to his bed and rummaged about for his book.

“Not that book again, mate,” Ron said reproachfully with a nod in said book’s direction.

Harry obediently put the book down. His head was swimming anyway, he probably wouldn’t be able to digest a word. Harry turned to face Ron and tilted his head. He didn’t think Ron was attractive. But he did look like Ginny, and Harry supposed Ginny was attractive, and if Harry was gay, then wouldn’t that make Ron desirable? No, it wasn’t that simple-

“Stop looking at me like that. It’s giving me the creeps,” Ron said, and shuddered for effect.

At that moment, Neville walked through the door. He looked distraught.

“Tracy Tristan asked if I would eat lunch with her tomorrow,” Neville began. “She’s so hot though, I’m bound to fuck it up and spill something all over her beautiful, slender, silken legs.” With every adjective, Neville’s face grew more and more blissful. He splayed out on his bed and blinked dreamily.

“That’s great, Neville.”

“Bloody brilliant! I knew she had the hots for you, man.”

Harry looked at Neville. He had certainly come a long way since his first year, and was now downright sexy, for a sixteen year old boy. Harry studied the toned forearms peeking from under Neville’s bunched up shirt and gulped.

And yet… Harry had felt a lot more stirring in his pants when he thought of his radio pumping Eminem. The man had an undeniable command over his lyrics. At first, Harry had thought it was a fluke when his dick stirred at a particularly vicious verse. Eventually, he’d realized he’d had the hots for Eminem when he got his hands on a magazine and saw pictures of the man shirtless. It was fucking cruel, honestly, and it had Harry gripping his dick tight on a near daily basis. He supposes he has a thing for loudmouthed assholes that mean well. Ish.

So when Harry wakes up the next morning to a raging boner as images of Malfoy fucking him against a wall fade away, he’s hardly surprised.

At least Dumbledore approves.


End file.
